Greg Rucka

Baze Malbus tell it, one blind Guardian and his long-suffering friend.

But there, too, had been peace, and generosity, and comfort, and warmth. There had been families bound by love, and honest beings who did honest work. There had been the respect of sentients for one another, all bound by the understanding that they lived their days in a rare and precious place in the galaxy, a place that meant so much to so many.

and among them came another odor that Chirrut had not known since he was very young, and had almost forgotten.

The scent of fear.

“I am one with the Force,” he said, to himself and to the universe at once.

sometimes he could feel the Force, truly feel it, moving around him, connecting him to the world and the world to him, the warmth of the light and the chill of the dark, and stretching out further and further, and he could almost see

why Baze’s lack of faith caused Chirrut such pain, though Chirrut did his best to conceal this from his friend. Because Baze had lost his faith in something that was beyond Chirrut’s ability to even begin to describe, but which Chirrut knew to be manifestly true.

“They have destroyed our home,” Baze said. “They have destroyed the homes of so many others. I understand his rage.”

“I know,” Chirrut said, and Baze thought that was the end of it, but then Chirrut added, “So do I.”

These were Imperials, these were the people who had destroyed his city, his home. These were Imperials, who had taken that which was beautiful and made it profane, and it didn’t matter if Baze Malbus still believed or not; it mattered to him that others did, and he saw the pain the Imperials caused every single day. He saw it in friends and strangers. He saw it in hungry children in the streets, and hiding beneath the smile of Chirrut Îmwe.

Chirrut reached out to find her hand, and she laced her fingers through his.

“The Force is with me, and I am with the Force,” he told her.

“And I fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it,” she concluded.